


Weak, My Love, But You Make Me Strong

by Luka z Rivii (wayward_dream)



Series: Lu's Bday Drabbles [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Because she's tired of him sulking, F/M, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Implied Geralt/Yen, Jaskier and Yen are friends because they deserve to be chaotic besties, Jaskier is sad, Light Angst, M/M, Not quite an apology??, Post-Rare Species, Yennefer meddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:48:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23691103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wayward_dream/pseuds/Luka%20z%20Rivii
Summary: After the mountain, Jaskier somehow ends up with Yennefer, nursing a fragile heart. Yennefer has had enough of oblivious idiots and decides to step in and fix it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Lu's Bday Drabbles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1706101
Comments: 2
Kudos: 130





	Weak, My Love, But You Make Me Strong

Jaskier had lost track of how long he’d been sitting in the room - Yennefer had said she’d be back soon, and Jaskier was too busy daydreaming about lustrous amber eyes and trying to forget harsh words in a rumbling growl to notice the shifting of the sunlight streaming through the window.

He was only startled out of his reverie by the sound of a portal opening.

“Well it’s about time,” he groused, sitting up with a stretch and a groan. “I hope whatever kept you so long was more important than a heartsick friend. I don’t know why I even came to you, you’re hardly a shoulder to cry on--”

He sucked in a sharp breath when his eyes caught on familiar chiseled features and he shot a glare to the smirking mage standing behind the (uncomfortable looking) Witcher.

“Yennefer,” he began curtly, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand.

“No, no, I’ve had enough. You’re both being idiots and I’m done watching you run around like chickens with your heads cut off. So until you two manage to come to terms, you’ll be staying here.”

“Yen--” Geralt murmured with a grimace.

“Trust me,” she said, in a softer tone, touching his arm gently. Something in Jaskier’s chest twisted painfully at how Geralt relaxed at the touch and nodded silently. He looked away.

“I’m not doing this,” he announced, getting to his feet.

“Oh  _ yes you are. _ ” Yennefer pointed a finger at him threateningly. “Try and walk out that portal. See what happens.” Blue eyes locked with violet in a silent contest of wills until Jaskier wearily resumed his seat on the bed, sulking. Yennefer nodded. “Good. Have fun, boys.” And with that, she was gone, leaving a whiff of lilac in the air and an uncomfortable atmosphere of tension.

Geralt remained standing on the opposite side of the room, looking anywhere but at him. Jaskier closed his eyes and took a deep breath, gathering all his emotions and piling them behind a wall where they’d be safe from annoyingly keen Witcher senses. He could do this. He could be a rational adult. Just because Geralt….didn’t return his feelings….didn’t mean Jaskier valued him any less as a friend. He took a deep breath and forced his eyes open.

“How are you, Geralt?” he asked quietly. Amber eyes snapped to his, and he had no right to look that wary. “Oh come on, I’m not a rattlesnake poised to bite you,” he gritted out. “We’ve been friends for how long? You can suffer through one conversation with me, perhaps it will appease Yennefer.”  _ It’s the least you could do,  _ he didn’t say, but the words hovered unspoken in the air between them.

Geralt huffed out a sigh, gingerly easing to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m not….”

“Spare me the “not your friend” line,” Jaskier scoffed. Unsure if he could bear to hear it when he was already feeling so raw.

Geralt looked at him, and his eyes were  _ soft _ and  _ open, _ and Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat because Geralt never looked at  _ him  _ like that. “That’s not what I was going to say,” he said softly, running a hand through his hair. Jaskier’s fingers itched to reach out and smooth it back down for him; once he wouldn’t have hesitated, he used to lavish touch and grooming on Geralt while singing his songs, but he no longer knew where they stood, if that was still allowed, so he kept his hands to himself and watched Geralt carefully.

“It’s not?” Jaskier asked softly and Geralt shook his head.

“I’m not….I’m not good at his,” Geralt murmured, clasping his hands in his lap. His gaze slid away from Jaskier’s again, his shoulders hunching, and Jaskier didn’t think he’d ever seen Geralt look so...small, curled in on himself. His hand reached out without his permission, landing on the Witcher’s shoulder and squeezing gently. A silent assurance:  _ it’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe. _ He felt gratified when the rigidity of Geralt’s shoulders eased, allowing the touch, even relaxing into it. Geralt sighed and looked up at him.

“You look tired,” he noted quietly.

Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat, but he’d made the mistake of deluding himself into believing Geralt cared more than he did once. It was a mistake he wouldn’t be repeating. Dropping his hand away, Jaskier looked down at his lap and shrugged. “I’m alright. Been busy.”

He froze when Geralt’s hand landed on the back of his neck, squeezing lightly. The touch was gentle, fond and far too intimate and he longed to melt into it but that was dangerous. He squeezed his eyes shut and fought to control his breathing, his traitorous heart racing away in his chest.

“You’re a terrible liar, Jaskier,” Geralt spoke softly.

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m a  _ great _ liar!” Jaskier protested, glaring half-heartedly up at him. “I am a silver-tongued wordsmith that could outwit anyone who dared challenge me. I make a living off of lying and performing, you know.” Jaskier looked down, then back up at Geralt, his heart in his throat as he finished in a much smaller voice: “I’ve just….never been very good at lying to _ you,”  _ he admitted.

Geralt winced. “Can you forgive me?”

Wiping his eyes, Jaskier sighed. “Of course I can. You think I’d let one little spat end years of friendship? Where would I get inspiration for my stories from then?” he teased, forcing a smile that he knew didn’t reach his eyes. Geralt’s hand slid from the back of his neck to cup his jaw.

“Jaskier...you’re not a friend, to me,” Geralt murmured and Jaskier felt his heart sink, his eyes sliding away from Geralt’s. Geralt cursed and cupped Jaskier’s face between his palms. “Fuck, that’s not--I told you I’m not good at this,” he growled, clearly frustrated.

“Good at what, dear heart?” Jaskier asked lightly. He felt light-headed, overwhelmed by the intensity in Geralt’s eyes and terrified to open himself up to be hurt again, but warm from the gentle touches and positively giddy with desperate hope and  _ wanting.  _ Silently begging Geralt to say what he so wanted to hear, but terrified he was wrong and about to be shattered all over again, left to pick up the pieces alone.

Geralt’s eyes flickered over his face, drinking in his features. “I’ve missed you, bard. The silence is….not as comforting as it once was,” he said quietly, and Jaskier’s heart stopped entirely for a few moments. He exhaled raggedly, closing his eyes.

So he was entirely unprepared for the feather-light brush of lips against his. He sucked in a breath as his eyes flew open; Geralt pulled back as if shocked, dropping his hands away and looking like he expected to be yelled at. Jaskier lifted a hand to touch trembling fingertips to his lips, staring at Geralt with wide eyes.

“Y-you….”  _ kissed me, _ he couldn’t say. He couldn’t quite believe it had happened, that this wasn’t some marvelous dream he’d conjured up.

Geralt looked woozy and  _ afraid  _ and that just wouldn’t do. Jaskier grasped the front of his shirt and pulled him back in, and when Geralt came willingly Jaskier nuzzled into his neck, peppering light kisses along the sensuous curve of his neck up to his jaw, nipping lightly before soothing with his lips. “Relax,” he whispered.

“You’re not angry?” Geralt whispered back, his hands hesitantly resting on Jaskier’s waist. Jaskier hummed against his skin.

“Angry? I’m positively delighted,” he promised, and then he was kissing him and Geralt was kissing back and it was all sorts of wonderful. It was slow and gentle, it was  _ I’m sorry  _ and  _ you’re forgiven  _ and  _ I missed you so much  _ and  _ I’m so happy to see you,  _ expressing a thousand feelings without ever having to say a word.

They were so wrapped up in each other, neither of them heard the click of the door unlocking.


End file.
